


simple/complicated

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma’s never really had a good grasp on romance, and the more she thinks about it, she’s not sure she ever will.  Spec fic for the season four hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	simple/complicated

It starts in the drug store.

 

They’re heading to Granny’s for dinner, her and Killian and Henry, and it’s the kid’s idea to stop in. He says he has to get something for class and Emma doesn’t question him - clearly he needs it, and it’s not like he’s going to go and pay for whatever it is on his own - and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t need to go in as well (there’s a birth control prescription waiting for behind the counter, one that she had called in after one too many heated goodnight kisses that she doesn’t want to end).

 

It’s only after she retrieves the prescription and tucks it into her coat pocket that she finds the guys in the Valentine’s Day section and – crap, _of course_ this is what Henry is here for, candy or Valentines or something else. She has memories of his childhood, where he painstakingly wrote out cards for each and every one of his classmates, which collide with the memories of their year in New York where he just bought two bags of Hershey’s kisses for the class party and called it a day.   Emma wonders where he falls this year, with his memories returned.

 

“So conversation hearts or Red Hots?” she asks as she joins them, noticing the way that Killian frowns at the rows of candy, and the way that Henry seems to be digging through the prepackaged cards looking for something.

 

“Red Hots,” he says, and Emma grabs a bag of candy, nudging Killian with her shoulder.

 

“The lad says that this is some sort of national holiday?” Killian asks as he glances up at her, and Emma shrugs.

 

“Yeah, if you’re Hersheys or Hallmark,” she remarks, and at that moment Henry finds what he’s looking for – the last pack of Avenger cards, the Hulk and Iron Man displayed prominently on front.  

 

Emma narrows her eyes as she studies the package. “You sure you have enough for your class?” she asks, and Henry laughs.

 

“Please, mom, I’m only giving these to the ladies,” he remarks, handing her the cards.

 

“Comic book Valentines?” she asks, eyebrows raised, but Henry’s already up the aisle. He shoots her a backwards glance that seems to say _you adults are such morons_ before he tells her, gently, “Girls love Marvel.”

 

Emma sighs, reaching over to grab a bag of Dove chocolate and another bag of M&Ms for good measure before turning back to collect Killian. He’s now studying the hideously ugly stuffed puppies that the drug store is selling.

 

“So what is the purpose of Valentine’s Day, then?” he asks, glancing up at her earnestly, index finger now brushing the mane of a stuffed lion.

 

“Something about romance,” Emma says. “Like, one day a year, men go all out and buy their girlfriends and wives flowers, and candy, and hope they get sexy lingerie in return.” She shrugs – she’s never liked the holiday, but she is a fan of the half-price candy the next day, so she really can’t complain too much, but she will admit that the lack of sincerity on the day itself is enough of a turn off – roses once a year are bullshit, and she buys her sexy lingerie for herself (though if Killian was interested…)

 

Her stomach growls, putting an end to the conversation, but she doesn’t miss the final glance that he makes at the stuffed animals, nor does she ignore the chill that goes up her spine when he asks her to elaborate on what exactly she means by ‘sexy lingerie’ later on, when they’re alone. They get to second base that night, and she tries not to wish she had on a cuter bra than this old grey thing, but that’s just an excuse to go shopping, isn’t it?

 

…

 

“Are you and Killian doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”   Mary Margaret asks one day while she and Emma are in the loft.

 

Emma’s scanning through Craiglist on her phone, hoping against hope that someone’s got an apartment for rent, because she’s getting more than a bit paranoid at Granny’s (third base last night, she almost bit her tongue off because _damn_ that man is talented) and her mother’s playing with her little brother, so it feels like it comes out of nowhere.

 

“No – why, do you need a baby sitter?” Emma asks, putting her phone down.

 

Her mother shakes her head. “No, Belle’s going to watch him – David’s taking me out to dinner at that Italian place you told us about,” she says. “I just wondered if you had any plans.”

 

Emma shrugs. “Not really,” she admits, because they don’t – she doesn’t celebrate this trumped-up faux holiday, and she wouldn’t expect Killian to either. He’s not from this realm, and he doesn’t have any crazy memories of past celebrations to fall back on, so this entire process is more than a bit ridiculous to him, as he pointed out to her yesterday when they walked by Game of Thorns and she scoffed at the price for a dozen roses now through Saturday.

 

(“Not a fan of flowers, love?” he asks, slipping his hand into hers, and she laughs.

 

“Not at 50% markup,” she tells him, which leads him to saying something about _business acumen_ , which makes her smile because he’ll always be a pirate, in this land or the Enchanted Forest.)

 

“But it’s your first Valentine’s Day!” her mother protests, and it takes everything that Emma has to push past the sinking feeling in her stomach, because she and Killian haven’t actually defined what they are exactly, nor have they even attempted to try. It’s pretty clear, at least for Emma, that she wants to be with him, and she’s pretty certain he wants to be with her to (at least, that’s what she feels when he kisses her, when his fingers entwine with her when they’re walking, when he presses his body against her and she can feel his need, which is exactly as bad as her own). She doesn’t want to put a label on it, and part of her feels like Valentine’s Day would do just that – make him her boyfriend, make him her significant other, make him something other than Killian.

 

“We’ll have others,” she says, the conversation interrupted by the squawk of her radio, which rests on the kitchen table (a minor fender-bender out by the docks).

 

The topic of conversation isn’t broached again, but it’s all that Emma can think about, even as she climbs the stairs to the loft that night, and does her second daily scroll through the apartment listings (none of them are right).   She wonders if Killian would buy her flowers, or maybe a candy heart –after all, he did a pretty decent job of their first date – and the thought sticks to the back of her brain like spaghetti noodles at the bottom of the pot, and that, quite frankly, freaking sucks.

 

Emma’s never really had a good grasp on romance, and the more she thinks about it, she’s not sure she ever will, but she’s pretty sure the road to hell is paved with too many expectations.

 

…

 

The Marvel Valentine’s are a bigger hit than Emma expected, and Henry’s fielding multiple invites to the school’s Sadie Hawkins dance ( _charmingly retro_ , she tells Killian, but what else would you expect from a place called Storybrooke?). He tells her in great detail about the success of his cards over dinner at Granny’s, skipping out after all of the fries have been demolished to go tell Regina.

 

That is when Ruby stops by, making polite conversation before she asks, good natured and all, if Emma and Killian have any plans.

 

“Not really,” Emma says shifting uncomfortably. “I’m on duty, since David asked for the night off.”

 

Bringing up her parents ends that line of inquiry, with Ruby making a few comments about them needing time together before heading off to refill more beverages, and Emma has never been happier to see someone go.

 

“Want to keep me company tomorrow night? I figure we may have to break up a few fist-fights, maybe stop a few drunks from driving home from the Rabbit Hole,” she asks, turning to Killian whose arm is around her back, fingers stroking small circles she can feel through her sweater.

 

“The honor would be all mine,” he tells her, lips against her neck, before asking if she would care to join him upstairs. She pays the bill in record time before they practically race up the stairs to his room, where she slowly learns that Killian Jones is a meticulous man who pays a great deal of attention to detail, but she can’t complain, not when her fingers are twisting in his hair and she’s muffling her cries with a pillow.

 

“I’m looking forward to spending tomorrow evening with you,” he tells her afterwards, when she’s rinsing out her mouth in his sink, when his covers are slung low over his hips, and even if they haven’t done _everything_ yet (they still need to have a conversation about birth control) she still feels thoroughly debauched and worn out, but his words wake her up.

 

“It’s just a patrol,” she tells him, ignoring the jitters in her stomach that maybe he’s done something for her, maybe he’s bought her flowers and there’s a part of her that’s surprised that she wants that – wants him to think of her in that way, wants her to buy into this mass-market bullsht and bring her a giant bouquet of roses and a bag of peanut M&Ms.   She shakes her head, pulling her hair back (that’s when she notices the giant hickey on her neck and _nope_ , she’s wearing her hair down for the next few days).

 

Killian shrugs as he stands up, letting the sheets fall from him and she’s half-tempted to knock him back over into bed but it’s late and tomorrow will be a long day, so she kisses him goodbye (chastely) before heading out the door. The wind is cold on her cheeks and she’s grateful for it, because between the remnants of earlier and the more-than-slight anticipation she has for tomorrow, she can feel her face flush and she doesn’t want to have to weave and dodge around her parents (she really needs her own place).

 

…

 

Saturday dawns bright and sunny, and there’s a part of Emma that can’t wait until her shift, can’t wait until tonight (there’s another part that keeps reminding her that this isn’t real, that she doesn’t need tangible proof that Killian cares for her, but she ignores that while eating her mom’s heart-shaped pancakes). For the first time in a while, Emma lets herself get washed up in her parent’s enthusiasm, let’s herself focus on the good that can exist in the world instead of always finding the grey underbelly of those pretty white clouds.

 

It’s only later, when she’s at the station, that she realizes how silly she may have been feeling. It’s a lot to assume that Killian will buy her flowers or candy, but maybe jewelry –

 

“Hello, Swan.” Speak of the freaking devil, he enters the station with a bag that, upon closer inspection, looks like take-out from Granny’s, and places it on the desk.

 

Takeout. And nothing else.

 

And that’s when Emma feels foolish, expecting Killian – who has no knowledge of these hokey traditions, _who isn’t even from here_ – to buy into something just because everyone else has.   But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel just a bit hurt for getting her expectations up more than just a little, and so she takes the Styrofoam box he offers her with a small smile, because he brought her food and an extra order of fries, and that’s what really matters.

 

It’s only later, when she polishes off the food in front of her, that she realizes there’s another box in the bag. She reaches for it, popping it open to find two slices of Granny’s turtle cheesecake waiting for them.

 

“I thought Granny wasn’t making this anymore,” Emma says, flicking her eyes from the cheesecake up to Killian again, who grins.

 

“Granny is a shrewd businesswoman,” he points out, pulling two plastic-covered forks from under the pile of napkins that litter the table.

 

“You bribed her,” Emma remarks, sliding her fork into the cheesecake, and Killian shrugs.

 

“I prefer to believe that she knows a good opportunity when she sees it,” he responds, taking a bite of his own slice.

 

The flavors explode in Emma’s mouth – out of all the things that Granny’s serves, she knows this one is actually homemade – and there are tears in the corners of her eyes.   She brushes them away but of course Killian notices, asking “everything all right, Swan?”

 

“I just bit my tongue,” she mutters, digging in for another piece, but she sees Killian’s fork drop, sees him reach across the table to gently touch her wrist.

 

“You didn’t think I’d forget that this holiday, did you?” he teases, trying to be light while serious, and Emma looks up at him, catches the earnestness in his eyes. “Look, Emma, you don’t want flowers and silly little trinkets – I know that. So I did what I thought mattered more to you.”

 

“You brought me food?” Emma asks, voice high and tight, her fork also abandoned. Killian smiles, looking down for a moment before looking back up.

 

“Well, that – and the pleasure of my company, of course,” he remarks, but Emma can see right through that to the truth of it, and the truth makes her break, makes her realize that he knows her as well as he knows herself (if not better). Because Emma doesn’t care about flowers or candy (well maybe candy) or jewelry. She cares about thoughtful gestures and being with the people she loves, and so having that – having him slip Granny money to make her favorite cheesecake, spending the evening driving around Storybrooke with him chatting and making fun of 90’s pop songs –

 

That’s the most romantic thing she can think of.

 

She stands up and walks to the other side of her desk, sliding onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck before kissing him, slow and deep, trying to put every feeling she has into the kiss, trying to tell him just how much he means to her. She’s pretty sure she succeeds, because he’s quiet for a while – long enough for her to promise him that she’s wearing his present, which brings that shit-eating grin back to his face (but she can’t blame him, because quite frankly the lacy black lingerie she bought online is pretty hot, and she’s pretty sure that he’ll be more than excited to see it later on, once they’ve gotten this shift out of the way).

 

Happy Valentine’s Day to her.

 

 


End file.
